On Becoming a Gay Sex Prodigy
by ashedraven
Summary: Quite obviously, this is SLASH, of the BrightEphram variety. Future-fic, set during the Christmas holidays of Bright's first year of college. Major spoilers for the movie Fight Club.


Ephram wouldn't be in Bright Abbott's room if it weren't for the fact that Bright has an X-Box there. He would be at home, happily playing on his own, except for the fact that _his_ game system is in the living room, and so is his father, who shooed him out of the house so that he could wrap Christmas presents while Delia's out of the house, too. Like they don't already know what he bought them. Delia's a very good snoop.  
  
So he'll settle playing some stupid car racing game with Bright only because he can't play one of his own games at home. It's not like it's actually more fun to play some stupid game with Bright, who makes these funny noises when he's playing, and moves his head around like it's going to direct his car or something.  
  
And also, he's very pointedly _not_ sneaking looks at Bright out of the corner of his eye to see how damn good Bright looks. Because it's not really that he looks different than he used to -- though his hair is a bit longer -- it's just that Ephram hasn't seen him in, like, four months, since Bright left for college. That's why his stomach gave a funny little flip whenever he first saw Bright again, Ephram decides.  
  
Bright's car crashes, he makes this weird groan/moan sound, and then pauses the game just before Ephram gets to his last lap. "I have a question," he says.  
  
"That's nice." Ephram glares at the paused screen.  
  
"But it's kind of stupid."  
  
"That's never stopped you from asking before."  
  
Bright takes a deep breath. "How narcissistic do you have to be to want to fuck yourself?"  
  
That makes Ephram turn to face Bright, eyebrows raised. "Second only to the guy who turned into a flower, I'd say. Why? Have you been staring at yourself in the mirror again?"  
  
"No, Ephram, I leave the fawning over me to countless hordes of admirers, actually. I was asking because I was watching Fight Club, right?"  
  
"How would I know if you were watching Fight Club?" Ephram asks, smirking.  
  
"Asshole. It wasn't a question."  
  
"So that's why your inflection lifted at the end of the sentence. Because it was a not-question. I see."  
  
Bright huffs, which is kind of funny. Ephram doesn't think he's ever heard Bright huff before.   
  
"Whatever," Bright says. "So I was saying that I was watching Fight Club, and it totally seems like the Narrator wants Tyler. Like, _wants_ wants him. But then if Tyler is actually him, then that sort of makes it to where he really wants to fuck himself."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"So isn't that weird?"  
  
"I don't know. Would you fuck yourself?" Ephram asks, and struggles to keep a straight face. The weirdness level of this conversation is off the charts.  
  
Bright actually looks thoughtful, then he shrugs. "Would you?"  
  
"Fuck you or myself?"  
  
"Ha, like anyone could resist me. I meant would you fuck yourself, dumbass," Bright says.  
  
"As many times as I've been told to do so, I haven't actually given it a lot of thought. But I guess I would." Ephram grins. "Isn't that kind of what masturbation is, anyway?"  
  
"Not really. I mean, that's sort of a last resort. Like, for when you can't have sex with anyone else. You don't really want to fuck yourself; you're actually kind of _settling_ for yourself."  
  
Ephram stares at Bright for a minute. "Has college just made you really good at BS'ing, or did that sort of made sense?"  
  
"I've learned a lot of stuff at college," Bright says, leaning back on his elbows and lifting an eyebrow.   
  
Ephram tries really hard not to gape, because that really seems like an invitation, and unless Bright's changed a _lot_, Ephram's not thinking that's what Bright would be going for. Although that pose all but points a flashing arrow down to Bright's crotch. Which Ephram is not staring at.  
  
Apparently, though, Ephram doesn't succeed in not gaping, because Bright says, "Dude, is there something wrong, or are you practicing your nutcracker impression?"  
  
Ephram blinks. "Nutcracker?" he chokes out. "What are you talking about?" Because it sounds kind of dirty, he doesn't add.  
  
"You know, those wooden nutcrackers that are painted to look like little Russian guys. And they have those levers in their backs that you push down or pull up to make their mouths open and close, and you..." Bright's hands stop mid-motion, from where he was attempting to demonstrate his point. "Never mind."  
  
Ephram shakes his head slightly to clear it. "Why are you asking me about this Fight Club stuff, anyway?"  
  
"Well, it's not exactly something I could ask my roommate, is it?" Bright shifts, and his eyes avoid Ephram's. "I mean, can you imagine? 'Hey, Doug? What do you think, does the narrator in Fight Club want to fuck Tyler Durden?' Yeah, that wouldn't be awkward."  
  
"And yet you don't mind asking me," Ephram says.  
  
"Nah. I mean, you're weird. If that makes you think I'm weird, it's not like you can shun me then; I'd be one of your own."  
  
"What a sweet sentiment." Ephram rolls his eyes.  
  
"So back to my point," Bright prods Ephram's leg with his foot. "Was it at all normal that the Narrator wanted to fuck himself?"  
  
"You're asking me if the guy who had a split personality, one of whom beat himself up, gave himself chemical burns, and blew up his own apartment was normal. You're right, that is a stupid question."  
  
Bright scowls. "Hey, isn't that movie a little too mainstream for you, anyway? You're supposed to be all into weird shit."  
  
"We've just established that you've seen the movie. And if that isn't 'weird shit' I don't know what your definition would entail," Ephram says. "And actually, anything with Edward Norton is fair game to us weirdoes."  
  
"Right," Bright says. "I don't know. It didn't seem weird until the end, when you found out that Tyler sort of was the narrator. Up until then it made sense that the Narrator would do pretty much whatever Tyler said. He's just that kind of guy who could convince you to do anything. You could understand why the Narrator would want him."  
  
"Really?" Ephram asks.  
  
"You didn't feel that way?"  
  
"No, I did. It just...seems weird that you did." And it really does. Because Bright isn't exactly the type Ephram would have pinned to see the sexual dynamic between those two.  
  
"Well, I'm full of surprises," Bright says, wry twist to his mouth.  
  
"Are you now?" Ephram asks contemplatively.  
  
"I might have another stupid question," Bright says after a pause.  
  
"I am Jack's complete lack of surprise," Ephram says, and he hardly flinches when Bright punches him in the arm.  
  
Bright laughs a little bit, and Ephram finds that it's a sound he's sort of missed.  
  
"Would you fight me?" Bright asks.  
  
"What?" Ephram says. "That's ridiculous! We don't have a reason to fight each other anymore."  
  
"I know," Bright says. "I told you it was a stupid question. Just...forget it."  
  
"All right." Ephram shrugs. "You should have known the answer, anyway. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Besides, have you looked at me lately? With my muscle mass, I would be an idiot to even try to get into a fight, especially with you."  
  
"Which is why you would be the Narrator," Bright says.  
  
"Jesus, Bright! Is that what you were leading to?" Ephram shakes his head. "I'm not having this conversation; they're the same person!" And, you know, one of them wanted to fuck the other one, Ephram thinks.  
  
"Well, not exactly," Bright says. "I mean, they interacted and stuff."  
  
Ephram laughs. "What, so you think you would be Tyler Durden?" Bright's such a cocky bastard.  
  
"Yeah. Why not?" Bright asks, sounding defensive.  
  
"Well, partly because he's an evil mastermind. Have you ever even _had_ an evil master plan?"  
  
"It doesn't matter. You look more like Edward Norton."  
  
"Great reasoning, there." Ephram rolls his eyes. "No, you would be the Narrator, because you're normal and boring. I'd be Tyler Durden because I'm weird and crazy, remember?" He hopes that Bright won't remember what he said about how he wasn't going to have this conversation.  
  
Bright frowns, and Ephram grins triumphantly and gets up to stretch, hands above his head. Ephram gasps and freezes a moment later when Bright smacks his ass. Turning slowly -- incrementally, really -- Ephram sees Bright's eyes as wide as his own, face flushed red.  
  
"Is that normal and boring?" Bright asks after a frozen moment of _jesusfuckwhatjusthappened_.  
  
"Okay," Ephram says, trying to keep his voice even. "You're definitely the Narrator now, as you're clearly _insane_! What the fuck was that?"  
  
"Um." Bright looks desperate. "Reflex? From, ah, playing sports?"  
  
"Yeah, because I just made a really great play," Ephram says sarcastically. "And you know, it's not very convincing when you say it like you're asking me instead of telling me. Besides, you haven't been on a team in over a year, so I'm not about to buy that crap." He crosses his arms, waiting for an explanation.  
  
Bright stares down at his feet while he toes the carpet with one socked foot. "Uh, you might actually be right. About me being the Narrator, that is."  
  
Ephram furrows his brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"I." Bright clears his throat and looks back up at Ephram. "I might sort of, uh, want you."  
  
"Really?" Ephram asks, voice squeaking on the word, and it feels like his eyebrows should be meeting his hairline right about now.  
  
"Really," Bright says. "Would you be willing to allow one more somewhat stupid question?"  
  
"By all means," Ephram says, meeting Bright's gaze curiously, and still more than a little shocked.  
  
"Hmm. Well, uh, this is going to sound really weird, but..."   
  
"Weirder than what you already said?" Ephram says under his breath.  
  
Bright takes a deep breath and lets his words tumble out as he exhales, looking determined. "Can I kiss you?"  
  
Ephram blinks. "That was forward."  
  
"And here I thought _not_ asking would be forward." Bright licks his lips, says, "And it can't be any more forward than what I've already said. Or, um, _done_, actually."  
  
"Yeah, okay." Ephram says, staring at Bright's lips and unconsciously licking his own lips.  
  
"Okay? About the kiss? Are you sure?" Bright asks.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, yes." Ephram laughs, but cuts the sound short, because um. Kissing and stuff. Awkward.  
  
"Wow, I never really thought you'd say yes," Bright says.  
  
"Then why'd you ask? Don't you want to kiss me?" Awkward, indeed, Ephram thinks.  
  
"No, I mean, yeah! It's just... Well, I always kind of thought you were, um, straight," Bright says. "Until you agreed about how understandable it was that one guy would want to fuck another guy, and you didn't walk out when I, uh, you know." He gestures to Ephram's ass, and Ephram feels his face flushing. Bright's mouth -- which, by the way, Ephram is still staring at -- quirks.  
  
Ephram finally finds words. "Straight? I don't know about that. I like to see myself as an equal opportunity kind of guy."  
  
"So this is okay, then?" Bright asks, finally standing up and taking a step toward Ephram.  
  
Ephram jumps a little when Bright's hand trails down his back to rest on his hip. "Yeah," he says. "I mean, you're in college now. You're supposed to be experimenting."  
  
Bright nods. "What's your excuse, then? You're still in high school," he says, but he leans toward Ephram, anyway.  
  
"I don't have to have an excuse. Maybe I just want to be a gay sex prodigy, and I have to get a head start on this sort of stuff," Ephram breathes, so close to Bright that he can count the freckles on the bridge of Bright's nose.  
  
Bright smiles and closes that last bit of space separating their lips, and Ephram goes about getting his head start.  
  
**END.**


End file.
